


Mating Dance

by Aryllia



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Also various background characters, Denial, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Pining, Post-War, Transformer Sparklings, crackfic, every seeker is horny for Megatron, stupid courtship rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryllia/pseuds/Aryllia
Summary: The war is over and the seekers are the only ones who aren't throwing themselves into cross faction coalitions, though they are throwing themselves into something alright. Paint and sequins. And they all look at Megatron the way starving mechs look at a shipment of energon cubes.





	Mating Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by this post by Spoon888:  
https://doomspoon888.tumblr.com/post/184762762823/re-mating-dance-seekers-no-actually-many-bird  
As well as Spoon’s courtship headcanon tag in general:  
https://doomspoon888.tumblr.com/tagged/courting-headcanon

Megatron had not bothered to learn about seeker courtship rituals before he recruited his air force, and hadn’t cared much afterwards either, except for making it clear that he expected his soldiers to put the war effort first and their love life second. And as he accepted the gift of one fusion cannon, Megatron had told himself that some shiny brat from Vos could hardly know Kaonian courting. It became his signature weapon for purely practical reasons.

Occasionally Decepticons had to nip off to the proverbial backline for carrier leave, but seekers at least had cockpits to stuff their young into while stuck on monitor duty. The only major snag was when Skywarp announced that he was having a sparkling, urgently, in the middle of an ongoing apocalypse. But they had handled it. Well, once the screaming, panic, and semi-public delivery was over they had handled it.

Over all, things had worked quite well.

Right up until the war officially ended, and hell broke loose.

It turned out that surviving the End of The World together did wonders for inter-faction cooperation. They’d maintained ceasefire to find out what was happening, to survive, to reboot the universe and to cobble together memorials for the fallen. There was a definite air of second chances, and unlikely cross-faction alliances had been made and set. No one was sure _how_ Ultra Magnus and Tarn had become friends, it was just the kind of reality they had to deal with now.

There was nothing to it but to sit down with Optimus and the cluster of advisers they both kept, to hammer out a more permanent cohabitation plan. If they didn’t, they’d probably be kicked off Cybertron by their own people. The factions were still mostly holed up in their respective ships, but vigilante construction workers had already begun rebuilding apartments betwen the ships, and entrepreneuring scouts were gathering rubble off the streets, sorting it out and selling it to the rebuilders. Tarn and Magnus were outlining amalgamations of Decepticon and Autobot law to mitigate damages and fully expected their leaders to read their work and sign where required.

As far as Megatron could see, the seekers were the only ones who weren't throwing themselves into cross faction coalitions. Though they were throwing themselves into something alright.

Less than 24 hours after the Autobot-Decepticon peace had been officially declared the entire air force visibly brightened. Significantly. The barracks and nearby rooms and corridors smelled strongly of paint and whatever the seekers used to get that glossy finish. Seekers that had spent millennia in modest Decepticon purple and black were suddenly bright magenta and glittering with sequins lacquered onto their paint.

And they all looked at Megatron the way starving mechs look at a shipment of energon cubes.

Well, nearly all of them. Skywarp and Thundercracker were sleeping in shifts to balance work with maximum sparkling care and were covered in regurgitated energon rather than new paint, and Starscream had vanished already before the peace was officially announced.

Luckily, Hook took Megatron aside for a round of emergency sex-ed seeker edition as soon as the paint fumes spread from the seeker barracks. 

When Megatron left Hook he found 20 pairs of wings waiting for him in the med bay corridor, bright and flapping with pent up excitement. If it had been one of Megatron’s more indulgent dreams, he would have dragged the lot of them to the nearest halfway private room for a proper orgy. But indulgent fantasies or not, Megatron was not ready to conjux 20 seekers.

He stormed off to his office and locked the door.

~

It didn’t matter that Starscream hadn’t been among the throng outside Hook’s office. Megatron very decidedly didn’t care where Starscream was, had hardly noticed that he had gone. Lazy bastard was probably off bullying someone into building him an apartment complex of his own and Megatron was not bothered by how long it had been since the last assassination attempt because they’d all had other things to think about.

Really, he should be grateful that the bastard wasn’t there harassing Autobot high command or setting fire to the paperwork or flapping his wings in Megatron’s face or-

Megatron didn’t miss him at all, really.

~

Skywarp was the first one to actually dance at him, after warping straight into his office. Or on him, more accurately, as he accosted Megatron with a shockingly intimate lap dance before plonking down over his knees.

“Didn’t you conjux Thundercracker? Disaster is right there for pit’s sake!” Megatron gestured to Skywarp’s cockpit, where the aptly named and poorly timed Disaster babbled a greeting and slapped the glass from the inside with small sticky servos.

“Oh yes, I’m just here to give you a heads-up sir,”smiled Skywarp, doing a marvellous job of ignoring what a mess his cockpit was.

“Bright seekers want to be sires, will dance for attention, and you mate for life,” Megatron summarised. “Hook told me.”

Skywarp’s wings drooped so far that they nearly slapped Megatron's legs. Skywarp still made an effort to shrug nonchalantly.

“And de-saturated colours are for carriers, yeah. If you want to deter some of them then I can fix you up with some temporary paint. Nothing drastic, a bit of blue should do the trick.”

“Absolutely not.”

There _should_ have been a meaningful silence and eye contact, though the moment was rather ruined by Disaster babbling and throwing toys around Skywarp's cockpit.

“Okaaaay, I won’t make assumptions about who this is about,” said Skywarp, clearly assuming so hard that Soundwave probably could hear it from across the nemesis. “I’m just saying, half of the air force - well, one third at least - would go back to carrier colours within a week. They’re only in it because you are really, really eligible and they want to at least try because they can never ever do better.”

“Be that as it may, I am no seeker and I will not change myself just because the entire air force has collectively gone insane.”

Skywarp gave him an overly familiar pat on the shoulder.

“Not insane sir, just horny and starved for sparklings. Some of them have waited for millions of years for this opportunity. And you do look like a classic fertility symbol sir, the ideal carrier.”

“Skywarp.”

“Yessir?”

“Get off me and warp yourself out of my office, before I do something violent that Disaster is much too young to be exposed to.”

It was an empty threat, but he managed to put enough menace behind the words that Skywarp fled immediately.

~

As the days went on, the seekers got worse. Now Megatron only left his private rooms to attend meetings, and the short journeys to and from the midway ground between the nemesis and the ark was spent wading through seekers. Flapping, undulating, crooning seekers that thronged around him. It wasn't the first time he was surrounded by horny admirers, but he didn't remember the attention being such a tiresome bother before.

On the first official meeting after the peace, the two high commands sat down to deal with construction and housing regulation. The factions had already formed a decent grasp of how to not shoot each other during the cease fire, the immediate concern was that they'd rush the rebuilding and have their hard work fall down around their helms - figuratively or literally.

Thundercracker acted as air commander and seeker representative in Starscream’s absence, competently but noticeably deprived of proper recharge time. Still, even if he was half asleep he didn't do a worse job than Starscream would have, and he made an effort to block the most insistent of the undulating seekers on the way to and from the meeting.

“Did you prance about like that for Skywarp?” Megatron asked on the way back to the Nemesis. He couldn't quite imagine it, and didn’t want to.

“No sir, not like that. We've known each other for much too long to be formal about it.”

Megatron glared disapproval at a glittering and gyrating sergeant.

“_This_ is what you call formal?”

“Well, the only way to have a chance, even a small chance, is to get your attention. You can't fault them for trying.”

“I can and I am.”

He might have imagined it, but he thought Thundercracker actually looked relieved. Then again, by then they were out of the throng and nearing the command quarters, and as his replacements Thundercracker and Skywarp had happily occupied Starscream's rooms. Thundercracker probably just looked forward to cuddling with his family and napping.

~

After appointing a separate housing committee the high commands moved on to energon mining. At least in this Megatron knew his demands perfectly, had known them for millions of years. Safety regulations, ration distribution, work rotations so no one would be stuck in the deep for too long. He had built his arguments his entire life, mulled over them long before anyone could imagine the disposables rising out of the dark. 

He was almost disappointed when Optimus anticlimactically let him have everything he asked for, and Ratchet promised to ensure that a capable medic would be present in every mine - and he’d wrench them up to his standards first.

But then again, they needed energon and to get energon someone had to mine it, at least until a stable synthetic could be produced. They'd need the perks as bait to get the work done. 

No more miners dying from their injuries in the dark. No more disposables.

~

Megatron spent the night staring towards the ceiling instead of recharging. 

~

The next meeting they should have moved on to energon distribution, but were sidelined by the urgent need for an ethics committee - and until they had that, a very firm list of things that their scientists were not allowed to do, neither for the joy of science nor for the alleged good of the planet. On the top of the list was:

> _“No, you may not clone the dead. No code is to be taken from any deceased Cybertronian, regardless if it's a recently fallen comrade or a long extinct beast. Let them be and please multiply the normal way if you absolutely must create life.”_

The Autobots seemed to think that was enough, but Megatron had fielded requests from Shockwave before and had a feeling that there was a loophole he hadn't covered well enough - and the last sentence was just begging to be exploited, he knew. But he was tired, and unethical cloning was quite tame by Shockwave standards. He focused his efforts on tightening the paragraphs about time travel and experimental gun manufacturing instead. 

~

Skywarp left to “check on Starscream”. Not look for him, check on him. Megatron tried to not mull on the wording.

Disaster had been left with Thundercracker, who was all too happy to palm the sticky little bitlet off on the rest of the joint high command. Not a whole lot of decision making took place that day.

Nominally they discussed Ultra Magnus’ latest outline for a new law book. Thundercracker was in deep recharge in his chair and Soundwave and Ratchet were unsubtly competing over who could give better sparkling advice to Optimus, who had gotten hold of Disaster. The cooing and chirping would probably stunt the bitlet’s linguistic development, but it was hard to blame Optimus. Seekers made very small sparklings and Disaster was a charmer.

~

Shockwave had found the cloning loophole. He hadn't desecrated any dead, and neither had Wheeljack or Brainstorm. To Megatron's grateful surprise they hadn't gotten each other sparked either.

They had cloned themselves though.

The joint high command crowded the laboratory to observe duplicate Wheeljacks, Brainstorms, one Shockwave and a for Megatron unfamiliar mech that was apparently Shockwaves clone. The altmode matched, but that's where the likeness ended. Luckily for the clone, empurata was a cosmetic detail and not genetic.

The alleged reason behind the cloning was that with another three scientists on the team, they’d get more done - and have test subjects for the synthetic energon, though Shockwave did have enough grace to back away from that idea when the joint high commands stared him down.

Leaving the official punishment for due process, Megatron still took some satisfaction in sending the scientists into the midst of the seekers to fetch paint for the clones of Wheeljack and Brainstorm. The Shockwave clone, already unique, was gently but firmly adopted for the day by Soundwave.

~

After over two weeks of horny gyrating seeker nonsense, Megatron was well and truly tired of his air force. A few of them had given up on wooing him, but there was still an oversaturated undulating throng waiting for him every time he walked out the doors.

And Starscream still wasn’t back.

Skywarp was, and he had insisted that there was “nothing to worry about”, which was a blatant disregard of Starscream’s entire personality. Knowing the horrible scraplet he’d probably made another clone army or built some absurd new gun or some poisonous off-brand energon drug or-

When Starscream came back, Megatron was going to chuck him at the science team. He’d lobby the idea to Ultra Magnus as suitable punishment for the cloned scientists incident. In the meantime, Thundercracker was awake, Disaster was with Skywarp and could no longer distract Optimus will-play-peek-a-boo-for-two-hours Prime, and nothing was on fire.

The synthetic energon lab had exploded yesterday, but nothing was _currently_ on fire. As an added bonus, miraculously no one had died.

Under the circumstances, it should be understandable that Megatron was a little preoccupied while walking back to the Nemesis. Thundercracker had been warped home by Skywarp the moment the meeting was over, and the rest of high commend was clearly unwilling to get near the air force.

_Cowards_, though by now Megatron had almost gotten used to the unsightly attention. He just wished they wouldn’t stand in his way. For some reason, the seekers seemed more desperate than ever to catch his optics since Skywarp’s return.

Just as he was dislodging an eye-searingly pink and green seeker from his thigh, Megatron imagined that he could hear a familiar sound in the distance, and instinctively moved to stand with his back to a wall. A motion in the periphery of his sight caught his attention.

With the air force crowded around him the skies had been quite empty during the peace. Now a familiar white-red-blue jet darted into view, swooping down around a half-constructed apartment building and transforming into root mode in mid-air. He landed thrusters first right on Sunstorm’s face, bounced off like a spring, spun, and cracked Acid Storm’s cockpit with his elbow before the crowd had time to stumble out of his way.

Starscream scattered the seekers like some small but vengeful bird of prey. There were snapping fangs, hissed threats in thick vosnian and his wings moved like semaphores. Megatron was not fluent in wing-speak, but he had lived surrounded by seekers long enough to make out “angry”, “go away” and, with endearing frequency, “mine”.

Megatron would have liked to contest that last part on principle, but Starscream was effectively shooing away the wretched seekers and that alone would have mollified most of Megatron’s complaints. And it was hard to remember said complaints at the sight of Starscream moving like a living piece of art, tense and high-strung and sharp.

He had painted in his colours - same as he always used, and he had been polished to an exceptionally high shine, catching the light immaculately. He was surprisingly free of cheap sequins, but unsurprisingly adorned with genuine gemstones that matched his paint. Well, that would explain his absence until now. He was a striking balance of regal elegance and feral violence.

When they were alone Megatron crossed his arms and scowled.

“Yours, Starscream? Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself here? Depending on whose rules we’re actually playing by, you either have to dance or best me in a fight.”

He stepped away from the shadow of the wall and loomed. Starscream didn’t technically have to best him. Not technically. Hardly anyone had taken that part seriously even before the war and Megatron could definitely be generous by now.

But he also really wanted to see Starscream make the attempt.

There was a brief, disappointing moment where Starscream shrank back, but half a click later he rallied. Wings held high to compensate for his short stature, back straight, stance wide. Optics glowing and dentae bared in some wretched compromise between a snarl and a smile, frame humming with barely restrained energy.

Slowly, Starscream plucked a knife from his subspace, twirled it for show, and looked Megatron in the optics.

“How about both?”

~

Later, much later, Megatron finally found out what Starscream had been up to during his absence.

“You’ve kept these resources secret for how long exactly?”

“Some time,” Starscream mulishly repeated. “I wasn’t sure what state we’d be in after the war, so I thought it better to stack some reserves.”

‘Some reserves’ was an understatement. The small ship Starscream had nicked to move his stash was more than half-full of energon, mostly mid- and high-grade. The rest was assorted treasures that could be used for trade or currency around the universe: rare minerals, jewellery, textiles, art - and weapons. Megatron wasn’t even going to ask where he’d found it in the first place. Seekers were built to find things. As soon as it was clear which way the wind was blowing he’d darted off to some secret little hidey hole to drag this- this _bribe_ back to Cybertron.

“How long have you been planning to _buy_ me?” Megatron growled, threatening enough for Starscream's wings to do a nervous dip. 

“A few million years on and off and that is _not_ what this is! Don’t scowl like that, it’s not. I know that all it takes to impress _you_ is a good punch on your broken old nose. But I’m a seeker and I won’t change just because you are insane.”

And maybe he was, maybe they all were and maybe it didn’t matter. Later they’d have to ask Hook to bang out the dents from the fight and reattach Megatron’s finger, and Starscream would likely throw a fit over how his paint had been scraped and scuffed to the pits and back, but after that-

Well, after that they’d have all the time in the world to work things out properly between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of me wants to write even more background shenanigans and maybe expand on the whole apocalypse + reboot thing, but that would take forever and this was supposed to be a one-shot. I might be coming back to this one in the far away future, but no promises.


End file.
